The tip of the probe is dipped in a special adhesive and stably penetrates into the cross section of the blue and white porcelain fragment.
The air is filled with the unique slightly sour smell of camphor wood, old paper and a hint of adhesive. This is the world Su Zhi is most familiar with.
Her breathing was as light as a feather, fearing that a slight tremor would disturb the soul that had been sleeping for three hundred years.
With a "click", the door of the studio was roughly pushed open.
The dazzling aperture and noisy electronic sounds instantly tore apart the silence in the room.
Su Zhi's pupils suddenly shrank, but the hand holding the probe remained motionless. This was the muscle memory engraved in her bones.
